


The Rescue Job

by seraphina_snape



Category: Leverage, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski is Awesome, Stiles gets kidnapped, Werewolf Eliot Spencer, blink and you miss it vague, vague hints at Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's nephew is kidnapped by rogue hunters. Instead of trusting his rescue to the boy's ragtag pack, Quinn calls in the favor Eliot owes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rescue Job

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written for and posted at the [Leverage 2013 Secret Santa Gift Exchange](http://leveragexchange.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal. I've been meaning to post it here pretty much sine January, but something always got in the way. Finally getting around to it now! \o/
> 
> Much thanks to **fleurlb** for beta-reading! 
> 
> **Spoilers:** No real spoilers. The story is set in early season five for Leverage and post season 3A for Teen Wolf and references specific plot points from the Leverage season 4 finale and the Teen Wolf season 3A finale, but nothing that would spoil anything for you that isn't common knowledge by now.  
>  **Warning:** Teen Wolf level violence, possibly some language; Eliot is a werewolf
> 
> This story is told from Eliot's POV. I don't want to discourage any Teen Wolf fans because I think you'll still find it interesting to see the pack and what's going on in Beacon Hills from an outsider's perspective, but this _is_ an Eliot/Quinn story with the pack as side characters.

Eliot took a deep breath, counted silently and then released his breath. His eyes were closed as he slipped into a meditative state. The surrounding sounds got quieter until they eventually disappeared and complete silence surrounded him. 

His cell phone's ring tone sounded overly loud and shrill as it penetrated his tranquil state of mind. Irritation flooded Eliot's brain and he pursed his lips in annoyance. An hour of meditation, undone by a ringing phone. That and his own inability to hold on to his relaxed state in the face of stress and aggression. 

"What?" 

There was a moment of silence in the line. Eliot was about to hang up when he heard someone exhale.

"You still owe me that favor, right?" 

Surprised, Eliot took a moment to answer. "You looking to cash it in?"

"How soon can you come to Northern California?" 

Eliot glanced at the clock on the far wall of his training room. Just past ten in the morning. "See you tonight," he said. "Unless you need the rest of the team as well." 

"No," Quinn said. "Just you. You'll do." 

Eliot rolled his eyes and hit the 'end call' button. He quickly rolled up his mat and headed for the showers, eager to get started. What he didn't let himself think about was why, exactly, he was so eager. If anyone were to ask, he'd say he was just looking forward to getting the favor he owed Quinn off his back. Eliot wasn't quite sure if he was ready to admit (even to himself) that the real reason had far more to do with Quinn than the favor he owed the man.

#

It took Eliot about an hour to get to the airport. He'd called Nate from the road, letting him know he'd be out of town for a few days. Nate had accepted his explanation of Quinn calling to cash in his favor and had asked Eliot to call if he needed the team. Eliot was under no illusions: right now, Hardison was probably tracking his cell phone while simultaneously tracking his progress with the help of surveillance cameras. Before the day was over, he'd try to find out what job Quinn needed him for.

Between his multitude of fake IDs and his not fake but very much illegal Air Marshall's badge, hitching a ride on a plane - well, three planes - was the easy bit. Sitting still for hours on end was something Eliot was well-practiced in - you couldn't be a hitter if you didn't have enough patience to wait for the right moment, when striking too soon or too late could mean the difference between life and death - but that didn't make it any easier to spend those hours cooped up in a small space with a bunch of strangers.

It was almost nice, to know the team cared enough to invade his privacy like that. Hardison, he knew, got worse if he was bored. Parker mostly just broke in and rifled through his stuff for the sake of breaking in somewhere. She did it to the town's museums and galleries often enough. Sophie was a lot more subtle, trying to glean information the old-fashioned way. She'd called him up and talked about everything but Quinn in the hopes he'd spill something. Nate, though - Nate was the absolute master at getting info. He didn't even have to say anything - he just waited. Usually, for one reason or another, Eliot always ended up talking about whatever was bothering him. 

This time, however, he didn't know the job or the score. He didn't even have a location beyond Northern California. Not that it bothered him. Eliot was used to working with limited info. It wasn't always great, but in the past he hadn't needed to know why someone wanted something or if they were the legitimate owners. Another thing he could blame on the team: suddenly he _cared_.

Eliot sighed, declining the flight attendant's offer of coffee. 

He wasn't being fair. The team wasn't the reason why he'd changed. At least not fully. He'd wanted to change before he met the team, but they were the reason he'd finally taken that last step. They were what kept him toeing the line, only dipping his toes into the other side if he had no other choice. They helped him stay human and he kept them safe in return. 

At LAX, Eliot rented a car - middle-class sedan in a nondescript silver - and started to head north, calling Quinn once he was on the highway. 

"You land yet?" 

"On my way north," Eliot said. "Directions?" 

"Place is called Beacon Hills, it's--"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Eliot pulled up at the side of the road, braking until his tires were squealing. He cut the engine and ignored the guy behind him blaring his horn and gesturing as he passed. 

"What?" 

"Beacon Hills? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Hell, are you trying to get _me_ killed?"

"Eliot--"

"That town in bad news, okay?" Eliot interrupted. "People die there. Werewolves die there. They got hunters and druids and god knows what creeping around that town. Whatever your favor is, it can't be big enough to justify going to Beacon Hills on purpose. If you can't give me a good reas--"

"They kidnapped my nephew," Quinn said.

Eliot didn't have to be a werewolf to hear the quiet desperation in Quinn's tone. He breathed out loudly through his nose - not quite a resigned sigh - and started the car. "I'll be there in two hours. Where do I meet you?" 

Quinn rattled off an address and Eliot quickly punched it into the GPS. Estimated time of arrival showed up as two hours and nineteen minutes. Eliot made it in one hour and forty-nine minutes.

#

Quinn was waiting outside the front door when Eliot pulled into the driveway behind a powder blue Jeep and got out of the rental. The house wasn't like anything Eliot would have ever connected to Quinn. It was comfortably-sized for a small family, with a free-standing one-car garage at the end of the short driveway. It looked like any ordinary suburban house.

The wood panel siding was old, the paint chipped off in places, like no one had taken the time to repaint it in a few years. Where the paint had come off, the wood had aged and silvered, and where the paint was still on, it had turned a weathered gray over time. While no one had taken any time to take care of the paint job of the house or the fence that ran along the front of the property, the lawn was mowed and looked healthy. Warm, yellow light spilled out of the door behind Quinn, highlighting his silhouette. Eliot swallowed and finished his inspection of the house before letting his gaze drift back to Quinn. 

There was a path along the side that led to a backyard, with a side door that probably led into a kitchen or mud room. All the upstairs rooms were dark, although Eliot did notice the tree conveniently located so that a very athletic child - or a werewolf - could easily access one of the rooms from outside. 

Overall, the house looked lived-in, an impression that only got stronger the closer Eliot got. 

On the small front porch, Eliot gave Quinn a nod in greeting and received one in return. He tilted his head towards the curb. The police cruiser parked there had raised a few red flags for Eliot on the drive up, but Quinn didn't seem bothered by its presence. 

"Come in," Quinn said. "I'll explain inside." 

Eliot followed Quinn into a small entrance hall with a staircase ahead and doorways leading to the left (living room) and right (dining room and kitchen beyond). A short hallway next to the stairs led further back into the house, maybe to a bathroom or an office. Quinn turned left and Eliot followed him into the living room. 

Spaced out across the furniture were several teenagers, a guy in his twenties and two middle-aged guys. Eliot dismissed one of them as a potential threat almost immediately. The man was wearing a sheriff's uniform, complete with service weapon. He looked absolutely wrecked. Judging by the smell, he had to be the father of Quinn's kidnapped nephew. 

Eliot knew all too well that a lot of parents would do absolutely anything for their children, and he had no doubts that any relation of Quinn's would go all out if his kid was threatened. But compared to the rest of the room, the man was the least of Eliot's worries. The other middle-aged guy was Chris Argent. Eliot had never crossed paths with the man before, but he had had a quick and painful encounter with the man's sister about a decade ago. He still had the scar on his shoulder. 

One of the girls sitting on the couch was an Argent, too. He didn't know her name - she looked like she wasn't quite old enough to take over the family business yet, but the last he'd heard of Beacon Hills, there weren't that many Argents around any more. Maybe she'd had to grow up before her time, like so many. She was definitely armed and dangerous, despite her harmless exterior. 

The other teenage girl looked completely innocuous in a denim dress, her legs demurely closed, hands folded in her lap. But Eliot could see the steel in her posture and in her gaze. 

The other two teenagers were boys, sixteen or seventeen years old. One was sitting on the couch between the two girls, the other one was leaning against the wall next to it. The standing kid was tall and skinny, with a face that belied his wolf nature. The one on the couch with the girls was the alpha. 

_Interesting_ , Eliot thought, dragging his eyes over to the last person in the room. 

Derek Hale. Last surviving member of the Hale pack and the last Eliot had heard, alpha in Beacon Hills. Looks like that, at least, had changed even though there were still Argents running around town. 

Eliot turned back to the sofa and nodded at the alpha, more to let the kid know that he knew what he was than to indicate any kind of acknowledgment of his higher rank. It was anyone's guess if the message got through. 

"We're inside," Eliot said. "Any time you wanna explain things, Quinn." 

"Eliot Spencer, meet my brother-in-law, John Stilinski." 

The sheriff, Stilinski, straightened up and reached over to shake his hand, ignoring the way every single person in the room watched the procedure with hawk's eyes. From the absence of his wife Eliot concluded that she was either dead or lived elsewhere. But if he'd made it to California in half a day, the boy's mother surely would have been back by now if she was just traveling or lived elsewhere in the US. 

"My brother-in-law says you're the best at what you do," Stilinski said. "Whatever that is." 

"I retrieve things," Eliot said, watching the man's eyes draw together in suspicion. No doubt running through a mental list of wanted men, trying to see if any of them matched his description.

But then Stilinski sighed and shrugged. "I don't even care who you are as long as you can help me get my son back in one piece." 

"I still say this is a dumb plan," the tall kid said under his breath. 

Eliot wasn't sure at first if the kid wanted to provoke him or honestly didn't know he could hear him. Either way it was bad. If he was trying to provoke Eliot, he obviously didn't _know_ Eliot: And if he didn't think he could hear - what were people teaching their betas these days? With a quick glare at the boy's alpha, he turned his eyes to the tall kid, raising his chin in a silent challenge. The kid gulped and straightened, then cringed back and tried to make himself look smaller than he was. He looked torn, like he was itching for a fight but not stupid enough to try and take on Eliot. 

Across the room, Derek Hale crossed his arms over his chest. He looked pissed, both at Eliot and the kid. The only one who stayed completely cool was the alpha. He looked more worried than anything else. Giving everyone in the room a short look, Eliot turned his back on them and looked at Quinn. 

"Tell me what happened."

#

"My sister's kid, Stiles," Quinn said, pointing at a picture frame on the mantle. Eliot walked past the dining table and inspected the picture. The photo seemed to be recent, if the teenager's "do I have to?" expression was anything to go by. The kid was skinny, with large brown eyes and pale skin. A few moles on his cheek and neck. It was a portrait picture, with just the collar of a plaid shirt visible on the bottom edge.

"Seventeen, about 5'10'', skinny, smart kid. Runs his mouth a lot," Quinn said. 

"How'd he get mixed up in that?" Eliot asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the living room. 

"I don't know the full story. I didn't know that Stiles was involved, or that he and John both knew about werewolves," Quinn said. "Didn't even know that there were werewolves in town until I got here this morning." 

"What about the hunters? You got one Argent chilling on the couch, the other all but rubbing shoulders with Hale. How are they involved?" Eliot asked, under no illusions that the werewolves in the room across the hall were keeping their ears to themselves.

They were listening to every word, the mouthy kid from before giving the girls a running commentary that was only sometimes interrupted by Hale growling. Revealing what he knew - even if it wasn't _all_ he knew - was a tactical step. He knew more about them than they knew about him. Chris Argent might have heard his name before, but he'd always been careful not to mix his werewolf heritage with any outside part of his life, including his job. If Argent knew him, it was more likely he knew of his shady, but all too human criminal past. 

"They have a truce with the local pack, don't ask me how," Quinn said. "Judging by the fact that another troupe of hunters waltzed into town a few days ago and are now holding my nephew hostage, I'd say it still needs a little work."

"What do you know about the hunters?"

"They're from out of town, well-armed and not afraid of showing their faces," Quinn said, taking several pictures out of his pocket. He handed them over to Eliot.

The pictures were print outs from security cameras around town, somewhat grainy but clear enough to make out their features. He exchanged a glance with Quinn. Knowing they didn't try to evade the cameras - none of them even bothered to put on hats - meant they were either amateurs or professionals who thought they were near untouchable. Neither option was very comforting. 

Eliot shifted, bringing his shoulder into contact with Quinn's. He gave the pictures back, but stayed close by. 

"We know they're holding him in an abandoned distillery just out of town. I would have gone in alone - it's just sixteen guys - but--"

"The package is alive. I get it. Sixteen's too many to keep an eye on at all times," Eliot said. He didn't need to add that the worst thing to happen was that the guys killed the kid once they realized they were under attack. Or out of spite once they realized they were losing. 

"Do we have a deadline?" 

"Sunrise." 

Eliot glanced at his watch. Five hours, give or take. "I assume you got a plan." 

Quinn flashed him a quick grin. "Scott and Derek have been at the distillery before. Argent, too. It's an open plan manufacturing plant, or it used to be. Large, double-height sliding doors, industrial machinery on the inside, but with lots of big and small spaces. It's on the edge of the woods, but the tree line is spread out, not much underbrush to speak of." 

"Getting in isn't going to be a problem, though. Keeping the kid alive until we get him out is." 

"We go in from two sides, east and west. Take out the guards outside - silently. Strike at the same time. One of us will have to make Stiles his priority. Since we're dealing with hunters--"

"I'll cover the kid," Eliot said, nodding. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, but he was still vulnerable to mountain ash and wolfsbane. "I'll take out as many as I can on my way to him, leave the rest to you." 

"Good. My knuckles are itching anyway." 

"Time frame?" 

"Approach twenty-four minutes, four for the outside, fifteen max on the inside." 

"Fifteen? Are you planning to have tea with them first?"

"No," Quinn said, curling his lips in a smirk. "I just really want to hit someone." 

Eliot nodded. That was an impulse he could understand. "Let's not waste any more time then."

#

The small hallway was overcrowded.

As soon as Eliot and Quinn had made their way to the front door, the pack - plus the attached humans - had spilled out of the living room and crowded into the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"What are you doing?" 

The alpha and Hale asked at the same time, then exchanged a quick look. 

"Where are you going?" the alpha repeated. 

"To retrieve your friend." 

"You can't just walk into there," Argent said. 

Eliot suppressed the urge to take a step closer and bare his teeth, but he did feel his eyes flash for a second. In response, the werewolves all froze and Argent tightened his muscles. His right hand was somewhere in his jacket, probably on the butt of a gun. Eliot's gaze slid past Argent to his daughter. 

"Do you have any objections if my friend and I go to rescue his nephew and beat up some hunters in the process?"

The girl seemed surprised, but covered it well, keeping her shoulders straight and her chin down. "Are you going there to kill them?" she asked bluntly. 

"No," Eliot said. "I'm going to make sure no one kills the kid while Quinn deals with the hunters. I'm going to attack them and defend myself, but I won't use lethal force unless I have no choice."

The Argent girl nodded her head once, sharply. 

"Allison, you can't--"

"Was he lying?" Allison challenged. 

"He wasn't," Hale put in. "But there are sixteen hunters that we know about. You can't go with just the two of you."

Quinn scoffed. "Eliot is all the backup I need. Who else was I gonna take? You lot?" 

The mouthy kid from before sneered at Quinn, his eyes flashing yellow for a moment. "At least we stand a chance against them." 

"As opposed to what? The human?" 

Eliot took a step back, trying not to attract anyone's attention. The movement gave Quinn a little more room to work, should things come to blows. Which, if Eliot read the atmosphere in the crammed hallway right, was about to happen any second now.

The kid's eyes flashed again and he took half a step forward. His alpha was about to step in, but Eliot caught his eye and shook his head. Before the frown had fully spread over the alpha's face, Quinn had punched the mouthy kid in the solar plexus, grabbed and twisted his arm and had him pressed against the wall, unable to move. 

The sheriff, who hadn't said a word since the party moved into the hallway, pushed between the kid and Quinn, glaring at both of them equally. For good measure, he shot one at the rest of the room as well. 

"Enough," he said. "Isaac, stay out of this. You might be a werewolf, but you're seventeen years old. What do you think you can do against more than a dozen men with military-grade training, anti-werewolf weapons and fanaticism on their side?" 

He turned to Quinn. "And you. Do you have to bait a teenager now because you're frustrated, Cameron? You told me you could help. You told me I couldn't do a damn thing to help my son. You told me to trust you." His eyes flickered over to Eliot and then back to Quinn. "This is me, trusting you. Go get my son back." 

"And don't break too many laws in the process?" 

"Try for none." Stilinski smiled wryly, making Eliot think that this exchange had some history behind it. 

Quinn nodded, clasping Stilinski's shoulder on the way to the door. 

Eliot looked at the alpha. "I catch anyone following us, I'll have Quinn shoot you. He won't miss." 

Eliot went outside first, digging the keys to his rental out of his pocket. Behind him, Quinn stepped onto the porch, stopping when Stilinski called out, "Cameron?" 

"Try for none," he repeated, face serious. "But I wouldn't give a damn if it was a hundred, as long as I get Stiles back."

Quinn nodded. His face was obscured, the light coming out of the open doorway casting shadows and making it hard to read. But Eliot didn't need enhanced senses to know that Quinn would be wearing a pinched expression, tight with worry and anger. He didn't make any promises though. Eliot was glad for that, at least, because breaking a promise like that was bound to take its toll on anyone. If they didn't make it in time, it would still crush Quinn, but at least he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that he'd failed not just Stiles but also his brother-in-law.

#

The drive only took twenty-three minutes. Eliot parked in the shadow of a large tree, tilting his head up to the moon as soon as he got out. It was nearly full and Eliot could feel it pulling at him. He closed his eyes briefly, remembering what it was like to let go and just run. He had too much control for that right now, and too much to lose to just let loose and be a werewolf for once.

"Please don't start howling," Quinn said. "If you give our position away now, I'll just kill you myself." 

Eliot let out a warning growl. It was a playful growl, not intended to scare anyone. Humans found the distinction too difficult to make, mostly. Even in the most playful setting, most humans froze up at a growl. Not Quinn. Eliot felt more pleased than he wanted to admit when Quinn just fixed him with an unimpressed stare. Taking a subtle breath, Eliot could smell Quinn's body wash, his sweat, his shampoo. No hint of fear. 

"I'll take the east, you go west." 

Eliot nodded. "If there's a line of mountain ash, you need to break it before I can get it. Just scruff it with your feet. The smallest gap in the line will do."

Quinn opened the door to the backseat and loaded up on magazines, making sure to secure them to the vest he wore. He tossed Eliot a bullet-proof vest. Eliot caught it with one hand and slipped it over his head before attaching the straps to make it sit snugly around his torso. 

"Ready?" Quinn asked.

"Ready." 

Quinn grabbed a hunting knife from the pouch behind the driver's seat, twirled it and then fitted it into a holster at the small of his back. "Let's go."

#

The eastern approach put him downwind of the distillery. Eliot wrinkled his nose at the smell of death, alcohol and wheat wafting down from the building. Only four guys stood on the outside of the building, one on each side, putting at least a dozen men on the inside. Doable odds, especially between the two of them.

Stacks of old material were pushed up against the sides of the distillery, making excellent cover. But first, Eliot had to reach them. Keeping low, Eliot crouched between the trees until the nearest guard turned and headed back to the other side of the distillery. There was a gap in the security. The east-side guard was too fast - he had already turned back before the south-side guard had gone the full length of the distillery, leaving Eliot with a small window where both their backs were turned. 

Putting on a burst of speed, Eliot headed for the closer target: the east-side guard. Eliot approached him from behind, fitting one hand over the man's mouth and nose while keeping his other arm over his throat, cutting off the blood flow to his brain. It wasn't fatal as long as he didn't hold on too long - just long enough for the man to pass out. 

Relying on his ears to warn him of any dangers, Eliot carried the unconscious man to the side of the building. A quick search of his pockets revealed zip ties which Eliot used to tie his hands and feet. The man's cap made a makeshift gag. While it wasn't necessarily safe to gag an unconscious man, Eliot's sympathy had its limits. 

Footsteps alerted him to the approach of the south-side guard. Sprinting across to the corner, Eliot hunkered down, focusing his hearing the man. He knew the exact second the man turned the corner and saw the east side of the distillery deserted. Before the guard had time to react, Eliot jumped over the stack of crates. He pushed the man's rifle to the side with one hand and punched him out with the other, watching in satisfaction as the man fell back, unconscious. He listened for a moment, but the activity inside the distillery seemed to have covered the noise of the punch. He could hear a card game inside, and what sounded like a Star Trek episode on a small TV or maybe a smart phone. 

A quiet noise from the other side of the building made Eliot check his watch. Twenty seconds. 

Rolling his shoulders, Eliot felt his world snap into bright focus. His fingertips burned as his claws pushed through, ending in sharp points. His fangs dropped and Eliot curled back his lips, hissing when the cold air hit his teeth. His hair, already longer than it had been, became thicker and he felt the hair on his face grow. The red hue over everything told him that his eyes were shining their electric blue color. 

"3… 2… 1… Go!" Quinn said on the other end of the distillery. 

Eliot roared and slashed at the corrugated metal siding, kicking through the wall in seconds. From somewhere near their car, a cacophony of voices joined his roar. It was a recording, but it sent the men in the distillery into a frenzy. Alarm cries went up. Somewhere to Eliot's right, a small fold-out table was kicked over in the men's haste to find and identify the enemy. 

On the other side of the barn, Quinn had given up on subtlety, creating as much of a diversion as he could. Three men were already down, bleeding from bullet wounds. 

Eliot quickly scanned the warehouse. He heard the man before he cocked the shotgun in his hands. By the time the hunter had finished the motion, Eliot's hand was on top of the shotgun, his claws digging into the man's hand as he ripped the shotgun away and drove his elbow into the man's face. Eliot broke the shotgun over his knee and tossed the pieces aside. Quinn's nephew was in the back corner, muttering to himself. 

Eliot took out three more men on his way to the kid. He kicked one in the shin and then kneed him in the face as he went down. He disarmed another and then grabbed and twisted his arm until he heard the joint give. Dislocated shoulders were a bitch to heal. 

The last man was standing in front of a small alcove formed by a half-destroyed inner wall and some leftover machinery, obviously guarding the entrance to something. He got Eliot in the chest with two rounds from his shotgun. The wolfsbane inside the cartridge was smeared onto his vest, the stench of it making Eliot's nose twitch, but neither the bullets not the wolfsbane had penetrated his skin. With a growl, Eliot jumped up, bringing his entire weight down on the hunter. His foot landed on the man's leg, and Eliot heard the satisfying snap of a bone. 

There were two more hunters inside the alcove. One of them had a rifle aimed at the entryway - and thus at Eliot - and the other one had a knife pressed to Stiles' neck. 

The kid had seen better days. His arms were bound behind his back, probably to the chair if his shoulder position was anything to go by. His legs were tied to the chair legs. The chair itself was heavy and wooden, so large that it was impossible for the kid to stand up while tied up. One of the kid's eyes was swollen shut and he had a cut on his lip that was still bleeding sluggishly. From the stiff way he sat in the chair, Eliot guessed that he had some more hidden injuries as well. 

Eliot snarled, registering with a little surprise that the kid seemed to be more afraid of the two hunters than him, an unfamiliar werewolf. Although maybe he shouldn't be surprised. So far, the two hunters had probably done more than enough to make the kid fear them. 

"There's no way out for you and your _pack_ ," the hunter with the knife said, spitting out the word like it tasted foul to him. "You can't save this one." He nodded, and the hunter with the rifle pulled the trigger. 

Eliot roared, half in pain, half in anger. The rifle, with several times the stopping power of an ordinary shotgun, had the potential to be deadly even for him. A well-placed, wolfsbane-laced bullet to the chest and the vest he was wearing would have been useless. 

Lucky for him, the hunter was a worse shot than Eliot had feared. Most hunters would aim not for what they could see but what they anticipated. Werewolves were fast. The chances of evading a bullet weren't a lot better than average. Most werewolves at least tried to avoid being shot, so most hunters compensated by aiming where they thought the werewolf would evade to. 

This one didn't. The bullet that had been aimed at Eliot's heart hit his left shoulder, just under the collarbone. The wound was uncomfortably close to Eliot's heart, but the rifle's power meant that the bullet tore through his shoulder, exiting on the other side. It was coated in wolfsbane, but the fact that the bullet passed out on the other side and didn't fragment inside his body meant the amount of wolfsbane was negligible. Not nearly enough to kill him. Just enough to keep the wound from healing properly until it had been cleaned. 

The kid caught Eliot's eye. He jerked his head to the side minutely, pointing his eyes down and to the left. At the same time, he wriggled his feet and then pressed them to the floor. 

Eliot didn't see the need for subtlety. He simply nodded, watching as the kid tensed his muscles and pushed off. The chair was too heavy to topple over, but the movement startled the hunter with the knife, giving Eliot the opening he needed. He darted in, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. He knocked the knife from the man's hand, snarling when he produced another one from somewhere on his person and slashed at Eliot's mid-section. The vest caught the blow this time, but Eliot could see the hunter adjust his grip. Eliot grabbed his wrist, but before he could disarm the man, he heard a shout from behind. 

"Look out!" 

Eliot reacted on instinct. He ducked, feeling something hot race over the top of his head. The man whose wrist Eliot was still holding went slack, crumbling to the ground. Eliot let go of him and turned, lashing out before he'd done a full one-eighty. He caught the other hunter in the chest, slashing his claws across it and pushing the rifle to the side. He briefly met the hunter's shocked eyes. The man didn't even try to resist as Eliot punched him in the face, breaking his nose and probably giving him a concussion on top of it. 

A quick slice of his claws cut the zip ties from the kid's hands and feet. The kid tried to stand then immediately fell back into the chair. 

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," he whined, opening and closing his hands. He hissed in pain, trying to find a comfortable position for his arms. 

Eliot could have told him it was useless. After so long in one position, it would hurt no matter which way he turned his body. Taking his attention off the kid for a second, Eliot inspected the wound in his shoulder. Like the kid's lip, it was still bleeding sluggishly, his red blood mixed with black specks of poison. Eliot curled his lip in distaste.

There was a salvo of gunfire in the main part of the distillery. Sounds of fighting. Quinn's heartbeat, reassuringly strong, if faster than normal. 

"--and everything, but I don't even know you," the kid said, his eyes nervously darting around the room. "So, you know, thanks and everything." 

His gaze landed on Eliot for a moment and he smiled, quick and fleeting. "Man, I sincerely hope you're not expecting payment for this - I'm still paying off the last time werewolf shenanigans destroyed a part of my car. Oh my god. I also hope you're not expecting, you know, _payment_ for this rescue. Nudge nudge, wink wink - none of that. You might as well tie me up again. Besides, I think I have some people in my corner who'd have a few words to say about that. My dad, for one. He's the sheriff, did I mention that? And Scott - he's an alpha. He looks like a harmless little puppy, very playful. But trust me, he has teeth. Oh, and Derek. He is all teeth, all the time. His death threats are very convincing. I should know, he's used them on me countless times. But hey, I know he does it 'cause he lov-likes me. And even if Isaac doesn't care much for me, personally, he's kind of invested in Scott and Allison, and they totally care. Did I tell you about Allison yet? She's a hunter - but, like, one of the good ones. Follows the code and everything. She's amazing with a bow and she gets really upset when I--"

Eliot was about to tell the kid to shut up when he became aware of the sudden silence in the main part of the distillery. The sound of footsteps approaching was faint, and over the kid's jabbering he couldn't make out any details, didn't know who was approaching the makeshift doorway. 

Eliot tensed, claws at the ready, when a shadow appeared in the space between the half wall and the machinery. 

The kid stopped mid-monologue and blurted, "Uncle Cameron?" 

The shadow took a step forward and Eliot saw Quinn. Several strands of his blond hair had come loose from the ponytail, flying wildly around his face. There was a cut above his eye and a bruise forming on his cheek, but it looked like most of the blood on him wasn't his. 

Relief flooded Eliot's system, and he sighed. 

Moments later, he saw Quinn's eyes go wide, and then the world went dark.

#

Old habit made Eliot keep still when he woke up, despite the fact that any werewolves in the vicinity would have heard the change in his heartbeat. He was inside, in a room that smelt of musty linen, dust and very faintly of Quinn. There was no one in the room, although he could hear several voices and heartbeats in the house.

Opening his eyes, Eliot took in the small room. A comfortable bed, covered in neutrally-colored bedclothes, a generic dresser next to the door, a small, empty desk under the window. Guest room. The light of dawn was just creeping over the trees outside and hitting the top of the window, letting in a few brilliant rays of sunshine. He couldn't have been out long.

Eliot turned his head, catching sight of his left shoulder. Someone must have cleaned and dressed the wound even though it hadn't technically been necessary. It was already completely healed. A little tender, perhaps, but the bandage was very much unneeded. Eliot was in the process of unraveling it when the door opened. 

"Hey, hey, hey!" Quinn swooped into the room and put his hands over Eliot's, trying to stop him from loosening the bandage. Eliot stilled, his fingers caught between Quinn's. He heard a quiet gasp - one that would have been in audible to him without his werewolf senses - and then Quinn jerked his hands back. 

Elsewhere in the house, somewhere on this floor, Eliot could hear the tired murmur of Stiles' voice and the answering rumble of Hale. Downstairs, the sheriff was in the kitchen eating something, while the teenagers were in the living room, talking idly. Chris Argent wasn't around, although his daughter was somewhere in the middle of the other teenagers. 

"What happened?"

"You passed out. Combination of blood loss and the wolfsbane." He slowly reached out and started to take off the bandage. "Hale and the idiot kids got impatient and couldn't stop themselves from following us." Quinn snorted. "Luckily for my back, they arrived just in time to help me carry you to the car and get Stiles mobile enough to help him out of there, too. I probably would have had to leave you and Stiles there alone to get the car. You're not even that tall - how are you so heavy?" 

Eliot didn't answer. It wasn't a question Quinn really needed answering, and he didn't feel inclined to speak, instead focusing on the way Quinn's cool hands felt against his skin. 

"Hale told me how to take care of this," Quinn added, brushing his fingers against the patch of fresh, pink skin. 

Eliot swallowed, tearing his eyes away from his shoulder to look at Quinn. "Thanks."

"Just don't do it again," Quinn said, returning his look. 

Eliot's breath caught in his throat. Quinn, in an effort to get better access to his shoulder, had sat down on the edge of the bed, his upper body turned towards Eliot. Eliot himself was bare-chested, caught in an awkward half-sitting, half-lying position. The weakness in his arms had nothing to do with sitting like this for too long, but it had everything to do with Quinn's body so close to him, their eyes locked together. 

Then Quinn's eyes darted down to Eliot's lips. 

A noise escaped him, quiet and needy, but Eliot didn't try to stop it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and cradled Quinn's face in his hands. Quinn's hands skimmed along Eliot's sides and around his back, pulling him closer. They kissed, keeping it soft and easy. Comforting. Comfortable. 

After they broke the kiss, Eliot kept his eyes closed, resting his forehead against Quinn's, his thumbs lightly caressing Quinn's cheeks. Somewhere in the house, Eliot heard a happy squeal, followed by a bunch of teenagers giggling. He smiled. 

Quinn's arms tightened around his back, making Eliot open his eyes. Seeing Quinn's answering smile, Eliot couldn't help but lean in for another kiss. He had a few days before he needed to join his team for the next job. Maybe this time, if he played his cards right, he wouldn't be alone when he arrived back in Portland.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!


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